In my second to last post on Ender’s Game, I described how Ender Wiggins, the novel's eponymous hero, is the paragon of intelligence--specifically, I described his ability to see beyond accepted paradigms. But it is his second intelligence trait that makes him a superior leader, his empathy. His greatest gift, it is also his curse.

From the beginning to the end, Ender tries to understand those around him. People are puzzles to him, like the math equations he does in his head. Ender asks himself what motivates Bonzo Madrid to lead so poorly, he questions Colonel Graff on why he leads the way he does, and he wonders why his brother Peter hates him. He knows the most important thing he can understand is people.

Or should I say Ender tries to understand intelligent beings, including Earth's alien enemies, the buggers. When he plays “Buggers and Astronauts” with his brother Peter before leaving for Battle School, Ender imagines himself as a Bugger. He tries to feel what they feel, asking himself what they think, morally reversing himself into their position. At school, he watches every video he can about the Buggers. The first time an adult honestly answers his questions, Ender asks about the Buggers.

This empathy is tragically problematic. “In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it’s impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves,” Ender says.

For Ender, this moment always precedes the destruction of the enemy, because by understanding the enemy, you know how to defeat them.

Think about the military and COIN warfare. How much about the Middle East, Sunni and Shiite sects of Islam, the history of Iraq and Afghanistan, did we not know prior to the invasions? How wide is the gulf that separates our cultures? To win counter-insurgency warfare, you have to understand your enemy. When you do understand your enemy, killing innocents and torture becomes unacceptable, because in some way you love them. You don't have to condone the actions of insurgents, but you must understand them.

This is a beautiful problem, the problem of empathy, because the solution to it is peace. When we must understand the enemy to defeat him this understanding inevitably creates peace. At the end of Ender’s game, when Ender can finally communicate with the Hive Queen, they come to a peace; they finally understand each other.

I have to disagree with Ender on one point. Killing your enemy is tactically easier when you understand him, but emotionally harder. Unfortunately, the reverse is also true. When your enemy is horribly stereotyped and viewed as inhuman, emotionally it is much easier to kill him.

(On Violence has had a string of sobering posts about the costs of our two ongoing conflicts. Today, one of my NCOs from downrange posts his thoughts on SGT Beachnaw. SSG Will and I served together in Afghanistan where he was my Section Sergeant and often my acting Platoon Sergeant. Although SSG Will and I had an interesting relationship downrange, I respect him highly and his words about SGT Beachnaw are memorable.)

Of all the great men who I know that have fallen in these two wars, this man hit me the hardest. Luke was my driver for about three of my ten months spent with 4th platoon in Afghanistan and during that time I came to know one of the greatest men I will ever know. We got to bond while listening to Credence Clearwater Revival and watching helicopters fly through the Korengal Valley from OP Rock. He was a stud of all studs and unfortunately he knew it too. But, he would also do anything you ever asked of him, even despite his bad back that would sometimes obviously bother him. He was a great paratrooper who earned “Top Gun” at Sniper school after he was brought up the Battalion Recon/Sniper Platoon. I used to joke with him that it was because I told Foote and Grabski and the rest of the Wildcat leadership that they needed him and they wouldn’t be disappointed if they snagged him up. However, in reality it was because he was just so damn good and everyone knew it that he was brought to the Wildcat Platoon, which is the best of the best in the best Battalion. He kicked ass at Sniper school and then attended Pathfinder school where I was deeply honored to pin his well earned Pathfinder badge on his chest as he graduated. Fittingly enough, later that night after celebrating, Luke drove my drunk ass home and even left my car for me.

I truly loved that man, still do, and fortunately I was able to go to his memorial service where I stood with 30+ of his fellow Paratroopers from the Rock Battalion as we helped his wonderful family lay him to rest.

The good die young and the best die first. He was able to go out like a true Paratrooper while living his dream of being a sniper. The world is a much worse place without Lucas Beachnaw on it, but at least his watchful, snipers eye will maintain overwatch on us forever.

Eric C and I have decided to stop using the phrase, “The Global War on Terror” in On Violence posts, and we are deleting the category from the sidebar. This is the what, now on to the why.

When we started On Violence last year, we debated whether we should use the phrase "The Global War on Terror." We ultimately decided to use it because it was common parlance. As wikipedia says, it is the "common term for the military, political, legal and ideological conflict against Islamic terrorism, Islamic militants and the regimes and organizations tied to them or that supported them."

It was standard, so we used it. But the label "Global War on Terror" has serious problems. Frankly, it really is a misuse of the word “war.” Like previous wars on metaphysical concepts--poverty, drugs, cancer--it will never end. "Terror" is a tactic, not an ideology.

So we don't feel comfortable using this phrase anymore. President Obama stopped using the phrase GWOT and the Army has as well. If the President and the Army aren't using that term anymore, then we don't need to either.

One of the biggest things I have learned while writing for On Violence is that words mean something. To that end we shouldn’t let words give terrorists credit or stature they don’t deserve.

The result should not be that noticable. Our categories will shift slightly. Between Counter-insurgency, Foreign Affairs, and Military Affairs, our categories will shift slightly, but we can still cover all the same ground. We will avoid using "Global War on Terror" to describe America's ongoing wars abroad.

Last week I wrote about the death of one of my Soldiers, Sergeant Lucas T. Beachnaw. Writing about his passing brought to the surface feelings about another friend I've lost, who I haven't written about.

Three years years ago on Jan. 15--the same day I heard about Beachnaw--I received the sad news that one of my good friends from UCLA ROTC, 2nd Lieutenant Mark Daily, had been killed in Iraq by an IED.

I had just started Infantry Basic Officer Leadership Course (IBOLC). I was living in a house of four UCLA ROTC graduates all attending the same course. We all knew Mark, but I knew him the best. After a long day in class, my phone rang and I learned about our ROTC program's first casualty in the War on Terror.

I suppose I need to back up. Mark and I clicked as soon as we met in ROTC. He joined the program his junior year as a transfer, I joined the same year as a sophomore. The first of many long conversations occurred on the way to a TV show taping in Hollywood. In the back of the ROTC van we discussed the most dangerous threats facing America. We settled on aliens, followed by ants, and then robots. It wasn’t a serious conversation. Later that spring we were on the same squad for the fall FTX. We both shared a passion for history and politics--discussed frequently over coffee at Kerkhoff hall at UCLA.

Mark's thirst for knowledge was his most defining characteristic. Since we shared an interest in current politics--and the wars--we had a lot to discuss. We also vented about the Army and ROTC in our long conversations. After his thirst for knowledge, his loyalty to to his friends, and devotion to his wife, still stick in my mind when thinking about Mark.

Mark graduated the year before I did. We hadn't kept in great contact but a few weeks before I was to leave to go to Fort Benning he stopped by the ROTC program. I decided to see him on my way out to Fort Benning, only a few weeks before he deployed to Iraq. When Eric C and I finally arrived, we drank margaritas, ate tacos, and talked late into the night. He told me about leading Soldiers, and the differences between ROTC and the real Army.

On 15 January 2007, after a long day of IBOLC training above, Mark's wife called to say that he had been killed in an IED blast. Like last week, I put my training on hold to attend the funeral that weekend.

After he passed, Mark gained minor internet fame. On his Myspace page he explained his decision to join the Army, and his powerful words inspired congress people and civilians all around. It was a strong message from an intelligent Soldier.

So after a tribute to a fallen Soldier last week, why another tribute so soon? We needed to do a post on Mark Daily, and Sergeant Beachnaw's passing reminded me that I had not given Mark the respect he deserves. In the current conflict, I have lost two people who were close to me; it doesn't get any easier.

On the surface, Clint Van Winkle's Soft Spots is incredibly similar to Jarhead. (Read our Jarhead review here.) Both are creative types who went to college after a gulf war to learn creative writing. Both books open with a "going through old gear" scene. Both lose friends after the war. Both are works with literary aspirations--Jarhead more so--and both experiment with narrative.

The primary difference is that Clint Van Winkle wrote a good, but by no means perfect, book.

The title refers, vaguely, to those "soft spots" soldiers feel when returning from a war, particularly veteran's struggles with PTSD and post-war life. Death haunts Van Winkle, particularly those deaths he caused. Most of the book takes place in Arizona after Van Winkle has come home from the war, though it jumps back in time—for the most part effectively—to cover Van Winkle’s experience manning a turret during the invasion of Iraq. In the present, he takes college courses that bore him, drinks himself into oblivion, and relives his warexperience. Quickly he receives a diagnosis of PTSD, denies it, and then accepts it.

The memoir, because it is based on real life, lacks a satisfying conclusion. At the end, Van Winkle, in a seemingly random decision, moves to Wales and his problems conveniently evaporate. He also has an epilogue on a new treatment of PTSD that feels really out of place, an attempt to bring closure to something that can’t be closed; to a problem that one new cure cannot solve.

There are other flaws in Soft Spots. The whole thing reads like a confessional; the book is writing-as-therapy exercise in a way. And if I'm being intellectually honest, I kind of hate that type of writing. Van Winkle barely pulls it off. His sheer honesty helps, like when Van Winkle opens with a passage about threatening to kill his wife that is so raw, you can’t help being moved. But at the same time, his immediate analysis of the event is too manufactured; he writes best when he forgets he is writing.

The message of the book, at least one of them, is good. Van Winkle goes to war angry and blood-thirsty, looking to kill but that isn't the came Van Winkle that returns home. He explains the change when talking with his grandfather.

"When I got back from Iraq, and saw my Grandpa, we talked about war again. However, we talked about it in a different manner than we had years earlier. We talked about the places we saw, and the friends we gained. We bypassed the death and shooting. Our wars were sixty years apart but weren't really any different. It didn't matter how many years separated our wars or where we traveled to fight them. Blood still dried the same way around wounds, and charred bodies still crusted over the same as they always have. It didn't matter that he'd fought in a "good war" and I'd fought in a controversial war; because the effect turned out to be the same: Neither of us could find anything praiseworthy about combat."

Again, the strength of this chapter is limited by the incomplete narrative. His change from gung-ho warrior into regretful veteran seems incongruous; it happened off the page somewhere. When did he become less violent? When did he connect with his emotions? I don't know, neither will you. Like real life, it probably happened over time but this makes for unsatisfying reading.

Despite all the honesty, you still believe that Van Winkle isn't telling you something. The book feels self-censored, like he looked into his soul but decided to only give you ninety percent. It makes the whole entire exercise feel hollow.

Overall, this is a good book, one of the better war memoirs I've read so far. It is honest, has a good message, and overall there is more to like than dislike in Soft Spots. I still think it would have worked better as a novel—Clint would have been freer to establish a better story structure and write a more honest book—but it works fine right now as memoir.

(Today's post is by Matty P. If you would like to guest write for us, please check out our guest post guidelines. We look forward to publishing reader posts on future Thursdays.)

As I walked home along a familiar route with the family dog and my father, he paused before a shadow filled alcove and looked into the emptiness. With his hand on my shoulder, he stopped me to grab my attention from my daydreaming. My father, stirred by something familiar, decided to impart a lesson to his son.

He pointed to the inlet.

“Always ready,” he told me. “If someone wanted to hurt you, this is the type of place that they might hide to attack.” These were not his exact word mind you, but the sentiment he intended to impart is the very same. Simply, to be mindful. To be safe.

Of course, at the time, I didn’t understand. I couldn’t. An imaginative child, I wondered who would ever want to hurt me. My child-like naivety confined my perception of violence to action movies, most of which strangely starred Jean Claude Van Damme. Perhaps a Terminator would be after me. The only reason anyone would want to hurt me, I figured, was that I was the hero of some fantastic adventure story, or the less exciting ally of that hero that he or she must save. Raised in white suburbia, this was my view of danger.

Danger was not, however, foreign to my father. As a combat veteran of the Vietnam War, danger was always present. Whether it was the terrain you walked that might be laden with land mines or makeshift bamboo traps, a friendly South Vietnamese shop owner who was secretly feeding troop information to the VC, or any bush or tree or elevated position that might hide a lone sniper; my father was taught, and experienced, the value of situational awareness.

Soldiers are taught to mind their surroundings. To be watchful. Constantly at the ready. In operations area, especially in our current era, a soldier is consistently in harms way. My father was told and learned through experience, that if an individual is not wearing a US military uniform, they are potentially an enemy. Even women and children were potential combatants. Not that civilians are considered combatants, merely that there were stories of women and children taking up arms to kill American soldiers. With such knowledge and rumors, as well as the constant submersion in an unfamiliar territory, it is understandable that a soldier would be constantly on his guard.

When a soldier comes home, certain things do not turn off. At least not right away. Even in peace time. Especially, when that soldier stays in the service. This happened to my father after the war. And here in the US, in peaceful southern California suburbs, situational awareness is viewed as paranoia.

There’s no change in my father’s thought process. Simply in one part of the world, how he thinks in regards to what is around him is considered valuable, where as in another part of the world, it is strange. This is because the world itself is different. When a soldier comes home, it’s no longer a war zone. But it’s too difficult to ignore something that was so ingrained into their thought process.

Combat veterans come home and often have a difficult time adjusting. The variation of returning to peace is vast. Some miss their comrades. Some cannot sleep unless they have a pistol under their pillow. And some are thought to be paranoid because they cannot shut off what they learned.

Within the last year, the media--and its customers--stopped caring about Iraq. As Violence increased in Central Asia and decreased in Iraq, our nation's focus returned to Afghanistan. Since it seems like an afterthought that US forces leave Iraq at the rate of a Brigade a month, I thought I would send out an update on the region, and fall just short of making a prediction on Iraq's future.

It also seems like I can't do a link dump without mentioning Blackwater nee Xe (until they change their name again). In this case, Iraqis were forced to settle lawsuits company, and now want just compensation.

Whether or not Iraq unravels, the length of time between deaths for US Soldiers is increasing. (Remember, in 2003 and 2004 violence was very low as well.)

Finally, quite a bit has been made of the movie The Hurt Locker; look at the award it's won. I still haven't seen this--I blame living in Italy--but as soon as Eric C emails in a Netflix DVD, I'll have a chance to see it. Eric C predicts it will be nominated for Best Picture next month (and he isn't the only one).

For the last week, I've been working in a Sensitive Compartmentalized Information Facility. In plain English, I couldn't check my email or bring my cell phone to work. Last Thursday, I left work in a crazy hurry to (barely) catch a plane flight to Los Angeles for the holiday weekend.

I got around to opening my email Friday morning. The first message was from an ex-Soldier saying to call him immediately. The second email was from a friend in the unit which simply said, "Beachnaw."

It instantly clicked.

My stomach dropped and I hoped against hope that what I suspected would be true wasn't.

On Wednesday the 13th of January, Sergeant Lucas T. Beachnaw was killed by enemy small arms fire in Afghanistan. According to initial reports, his team was attacked by an overwhelming number of enemy fighters. He sustained multiple injuries as he laid down suppressing fire so his men could fall back.

Sergeant Beachnaw was in 4th platoon, the Helldivers, for my entire tour in Afghanistan and for four months when we returned to Vicenza, Italy. When I first arrived, he wasn't Sergeant Beachnaw yet, simply Private First Class Beachnaw. A few days later, he was promoted to Specialist.

When Soldiers ask me if they should stay in the Army, I give each a different answer. Some guys need to get out. Some guys should stay in. Sergeant Beachnaw was the latter. He didn't need to stay in for the discipline or because he had nowhere else to go; he needed to stay in the Army because he was awesome at what he did. Sergeant Beachnaw was a Soldier's Soldier, the best of the breed.

In Afghanistan, Sergeant Beachnaw presented the best kind of problem to our leadership: he was the best driver in the platoon and the best shot (After we returned from Afghanistan he went to Sniper school and earned the honor "top gun."). This is a tough situation for a mounted platoon. Should he drive or carry the M14 rifle? We had him do both.

Because he was so good, he never drove my truck. My Platoon Sergeant hand selected him as his driver to drive the most important vehicle in a convoy. The Platoon Sergeant's truck is the primary vehicle for recovering downed vehicles and evacuating casualties. Sergeant Beachnaw had an uncanny ability to recover downed Humvees. He did this on the first convoy I went on, and continued until our last patrol in Afghanistan.

When we returned, our Platoon Sergeant put Beachnaw in for the Sergeant's board. Not only did he pass but he jumped over to the Scout platoon. He continued excelling in the Army until he died fighting last Monday.

As others have said, Beachnaw always brought a smile to your face. Whenever I passed Beachnaw in the field or in garrison, we would always give each other shit. He was a Soldier's Soldier so if I was messed up, he was going to figure a way to let me know. And I did the same. We did this until the last time I saw him in a training area in Hohenfoels, Germany. He asked why I was afraid to roll with him (do combatives). I said he was the one who was afraid of me. (At the time, we used more curse words.) We never did get to settle who would win in a combatives match.

Then he talked to me about leading a scout team. He wasn't perfect, but he was embracing the challenge. It was amazing to watch a squad leader mature.

The night before Eric C left Vicenza, we went out with a bunch of fellow officers to have drinks. We went to an Irish pub and guys from my old platoon showed up. When Sergeant Beachnaw arrived, he insisted, insisted, that he buy me a drink. So I made him drink scotch. We eventually got on to why we do what we do. I told him that we all have different reasons for signing up, but in the end we kept doing the things we did for each other, the men to our left and right. I then said that one of the biggest surprises was how tight we all became and that bonds with Soldiers like Beachnaw were far and away the most rewarding part of my job. He said that sober he probably wouldn't get what I was saying, but in a bar over a glass of scotch he somehow did.

I did what I did for Soldier's like Sergeant Lucas T. Beachnaw, among others. He wasn't just good, he was among the finest in the light infantry and America. I, among countless others, will miss him. The Army will miss him because he truly represented the best of what Soldiers are.

To conclude, I am going to quote from Specialist Bianchi, a current member of the 4th Platoon Helldivers. He spoke at SGT Beachnaw's memorial service in Afghanistan and he wrote a powerful eulogy:

I am standing in front of all of you today because SGT Beachnaw, I am proud to say, was my friend. SGT Beachnaw was a man of charm and wit, handsome and funny in every way always laughing. He was a fine soldier too; an original founding member of Destined Company and the 4th Platoon Helldivers. He was a veteran of OEF VIII, a Bronze Star recipient a Scout Sniper and a Pathfinder. SGT Beachnaw embodied everything that is a Rock Paratrooper. I remember when we first we met we hit it off immediately, I knew then he would be someone you could depend on even if only for a moment, and when all else was crumbling around you, he would still be there. I asked him not long before we deployed, "Why don’t you come back to Destined Company?" He said to me, “Being a Sniper is what I always wanted to do in the Army.” I know now deep down in my heart that SGT Beachnaw died doing what he wanted to do, and on his own terms. SGT Beachnaw you will be missed. Thank you for being part of all our lives.

According to Carl Jung, there are two judging functions: thinking, and feeling. (Teaser: our new website will dive further into this topic.) In my opinion, most of us tend to feel art more than we think about it. We feel that a movie is good or bad, but can rarely say why a movie is good or bad.

Movies touch our heart strings, make us laugh, or fulfill our lust for blood. This being On Violence, I think you know which we’ll be covering today.

What else, aside from gut emotional reaction or blood lust, could explain success of Inglorious Basterds? (314 million dollars grossed, 4 Golden Globe nominations.) It feels good as a movie; it satiates our collective blood lust. I mean, who can't cheer watching Hitler and Nazis burn to death? Especially perverted, one dimensional Nazis.

Nazis are the only real villains we have left in our post-modern, morally-relative society, a holdover from a more idealistic, black and white era. (You could also say naive.) We can root for them to die, cheer at them being tortured, and laugh as the Jew Bear bashes an officer's head in with a bat, all without having to feel bad. They’re Nazis, they might not even count as human.

(This is, of course, if you can even get past the ridiculous plot. First, that Tarantino changes the ending to World War II, which I’m willing to accept. And two, that twelve men with virtually no language or culture training can stay behind enemy lines for months on end. It's stupid. Actually, just don’t think about the plot at all.)

The most damning way to think about the movie is to apply the “Golden Rule” to it, or as Confucious, Jesus and others said, “Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself.”

Forget about Nazis. Forget about Hitler. Do we want our enemy's soldiers--be they Indian, Japanese, Nazi, Taliban, Communist, terrorist, Hun, Confederate or Union Jack--carving symbols into the foreheads of our soldiers? Would we want them beating our soldiers to death with baseball bats?

Is it OK to treat another country's soldiers the way the Basterds do?

The obvious answer to all of these questions, after even just a moment's thought, is no. But we don’t want to think about films this way. We dream of a simpler time, when there was a good and evil, and no gray areas. As Ralph McQuarrie says in an interview about his film, Valkyrie, "Somewhere along the way all war movies became a meditation on war. Because somehow it was like the filmmaker is saying I know you came here to see people get the shit blown up on Normandie but..we can't feel good about it." No, you shouldn't feel good about watching someone get blown up.

So, as my dad told me, "don't think about this movie too hard." Because if you think about it, it all falls apart.

After every mission, Army units conduct an After-Action Review (AAR). Basically the unit gathers around and discusses what they did well, what they did wrong, and what to improve on the future.

The AAR is one of the few Army tools that lives up to its hype. The civilian world uses them; they just changed the name. Some call them “hot washes,” some call them evaluations, some still call them AARs.The point is, they are used all the time.

From divisions down to squads, from training to combat to office work, units throughout the Army use AARs to assess their performance. There are squad AARs, platoon AARs, battalion AARs and mission AARs. I propose a new AAR.

The Army level AAR.

The Army needs an AAR at the highest level. General Flynn, the head intelligence officer in Afghanistan, recently published an article at CNAS titled “Fixing Intel.” It reads like an AAR summary. But why did he have to publish a paper in CNAS? Why didn't he have an Army level AAR to go to?

If our leadership wants to do this well it has to do it the way units conduct AARs. Units don’t commission contractors to provide input. Units don’t bring in outside consultants. Units don't study issues for months or years. No, good units sit down and hash out their issues. They:

1. Get everyone who was involved.

2. They put everything on the table.

3. The leaders analyze the answers.

4. Then the leaders make a plan.

5. As a unit, they hold themselves accountable for progress.

General Casey should bring in all the Army generals, or as many as it can reasonably fit in one room (I know there are hundreds of Generals, more now than in WWII, but bear with me.). For one day they should brainstorm everything the Army has done well and done poorly since 9/11. When they are finished, they will publish the results on the Army blog. General Casey, as a leader, will implement the changes the AAR recommends. It sounds unrealistic, but that doesn't mean its not the right way to do things.

We are slow to change. We are slow to identify our problems. We are slow to admit that we are failing. The US Army has been the primary operator in Afghanistan and Iraq, two conflicts we have not won. The US Army does not need outside advice to win those wars, it only needs leadership. And the Army level AAR.

When I watched The Battle For Algiers, I was amazed how succinctly the film summarized the western perspective of counter-insurgency warfare. A reporter asks Ben M’hidi, a captured terrorist leader, “Isn’t it cowardly to use your women’s baskets to carry bombs, which have taken so many innocent lives?”

Ben M’hidi responds, “Isn’t it even more cowardly to attack defenseless villages with napalm bombs that kill many thousands of times more? Obviously, planes would make things easier for us. Give us your bombers, sir, and you can have our baskets.”

The scene is short but poignant, illustrating the truth that war isn't fair--for either side.

It’s one of those phrases that is so universal it almost becomes meaningless: All’s fair in love and war. (First said by John Lyly by the way.)Used more often to describe love than war, the sentiment is more true for war. War's brutality, destruction and unflinching moral calculus are unarguable facts of life. (This is why Eric C argues that war is the opposite of civilization.) The higher the costs, the more laws, traditions and customs lose their value.

It is something I feel I’ve understood since was a kid. There can be no “rules” for war. If life and death are on the line, both sides will do whatever they can to survive. Winston understood this in the novel 1984, when he promised to throw acid in the face of a child. The American revolutionaries understood this when they used guerrilla tactics to overthrow the British. The Taliban understand it now in Afghanistan.

Unfortunately, many Soldiers don't understand this. In the New Yorker, (in the article "Kill Company" that we discussed in our post, "Operation Judgment Day.") one Soldier describes the "frustration with what an insurgency is--that we are fighting a bunch of cowards who won't fight us man to man, who hide amongst women and children, who don't wear uniforms." Calling your enemy a coward ignores the reality of war. An insurgent doesn't wear a uniform for the same reason the US Army wears body armor, it helps each survive. Or win the war.

My men in 4th Platoon frequently said the same thing. They called IEDs unfair after personally experiencing the tragedy they can cause. My men weren't unique: soldiers despise the IED. An unseen enemy just does not sit well with American Soldiers who want a stand up fight. In Westerns, the good guy and the bad guy faced off in a duel, what could be more American? In Afghanistan and Iraq the bad guys are on the second story with a rifle, shooting before the gunslinger can even see them.

Yet how unfair must guided bombs, helicopters, and a limitless supply of training and ammunition seem to the insurgents? We must appear ridiculous in context. Huge armored warriors who can fire nonstop, and who introduce a new vehicle every other year with more gadgets, more weapons, and more intelligence. In fact, Pakistani's consider drone attacks cowardly. (I also doubt that saying "we worked hard to earn our gigantic military budget" would mollify our critics.]

All is fair in war, because when you fight, nothing is fair (especially for the civilians). Because nothing is fair, all is fair.

Jarhead is a "non-fiction" memoir of Swofford’s experience in the first Persian Gulf war. Trained as a bad-ass Marine sniper--thankfully he doesn't dwell on the training sequences--Swofford and his platoon nervously await battle in Kuwait. They spend many boring months in Saudi Arabia until the war finally lurches to a start. When they finally get to the frontlines, the platoon sees little real combat, and in the end a senior officer takes away Swofford’s only chance at a kill.

In between this somewhat limited plot are flashbacks to Swofford’s childhood spent dreaming of becoming a Marine, growing up in Japan, and wandering around aimlessly post-gulf war. Some of these passages--particularly the one with the girlfriend in Japan--are quite good. Others--like Swofford’s petty family dispute between him, his father and his brother--are quite bad.

Ultimately, the book sins twice, by being both inaccurate and biased. This is why it fails.

Accuracy

Martin Amis, in his blurb for the book, praises Jarhead's "reportage." Put bluntly, this book's reportage sucks. A lot of events never could have happened, and his descriptions often seem totally innaccurate.

Many scenes just don't pass the sniff test. Like the story about a wife sending a soldier a sextape; it feels like an urban myth appropriated for the novel. [Update: It was.] When the platoon fake rapes a soldier in front of a reporter, it is unbelievable that an officer would let it happen and that a reporter wouldn't report on it, especially if he has a camera. When Swofford threatens another soldier with a gun, that's court martial material. And when Swofford gets stranded out in the desert, well, I'm not the only one who doesn't think it could happen.

One example is particularly egregious. Specifically when artillery shells start raining down on Swofford and his platoon. “The first few rounds land within fifteen feet of the fighting hole Johnny Rotten and I are digging.” (pg. 189.) Wait. Artillery rounds landed within fifteen feet of you and you didn't get blown to kingdom come? When I first read this, I had to call Michael, it sounded so unbelievable.

Maybe Swofford was grossly exaggerating, maybe he just made it up for excitement. The point is, it isn’t true, like too many scenes in this book.

Appearances

The title could sum up the entire book: written for civilians (particularly anti-war liberals) about what they think a "jarhead" is. It is a memoir about appearances, about seeming to be one thing without actually being that thing. Swofford seems determined to portray Marines, the military and Soldiers in general as blood thirsty, horny sex addicts/perverts; a portrayal of the world that is cynical, ugly and brutish, in which war and Soldiers are both our salvation and our sin.

But that's just it, it is all an appearance, or a mirage. As one Marine pointed out, "'jarhead' isn't even a term most Marines use." The book wasn't written for Marines; it was written for critics.

Published in 2003, during the lead-up to Iraq, I think the book was written because of the war. It definitely was published for that reason. The book jacket reads like a who’s who of progressive literary reviewers, with glowing reviews from the SF Chronicle to the NY Review of Books. But Newsweek tips its hand as to why they enjoyed the book, “If you want a clear-eyed sense of what might be going on today in the staging areas surrounding Iraq...read Jarhead.”

Swofford wants to shock you. That's why he writes about rape so much. That's why certain passages are so nihilistic. That's why Swofford would rather focus on the obscene--my favorite example is when he describes sand getting into his “ass crack and piss hole” Really? Piss hole?--than write about war as it actually is.

This second sin of the novel is more unforgivable. It makes the book no better than propaganda (as I’vewritten before) and we need to dismiss it.

(Today's post is by Matty P. If you would like to guest write for us, please check out our guest post guidelines. We look forward to publishing reader posts on future Thursdays.)

I studied Tae Kwon Do for six years; I earned a black belt for my time and effort. Though challenging, the time spent gave me confidence, physical endurance, and the ability to defend myself should the need arise.

Everyone who trains in martial arts does so for personal reasons. When I began, it was after my final rounds of chemotherapy, which left me with poor posture and an unusual walk. It was my father's hope that physical activity based on form and body movement would counteract my condition. The reasons for others varied. One man wanted to lose weight. Another worked for the sheriff's department. Some of the kids joined because they wanted to have fun. Parents wanted to give their kids a safe environment and outlet for their energy. And still another woman joined because she was sexually assaulted.

Tae Kwon Do is violent. I have no illusions about this. Indeed, all martial arts are inherently violent. You kick, you punch, you grab, and you throw people. If it wasn't violent, there would be far fewer bloody noses and broken bones. However, in Tae Kwon Do, as in most other martial arts, you don’t learn to do harm to others, but to protect yourself. Learning martial arts is learning self defense.

Specifically, one learns how to “disable” an opponent. To disable is to incapacitate, wound, or injure. In order to disable an opponent, we are taught to act violently. In most situations we are required to do harm to an attacker. This means throwing them to the ground, rendering them unconscious, or in some way wounding them so that they no longer wish to or are able to hurt us. We were learning to hurt someone so that they can’t hurt us.

It’s called self defense. Undoubtedly there are people who learn martial arts not for defense, but for offensive purposes. I call this the “ninja” complex. Basically, some fool learns how to punch and kick properly because he or she wants to be a bad ass or thinks he or she is a ninja. It’s like the Karate Kid.While it’s unlikely there would be an entire dojo dedicate to producing bullies, it must be understood that bullies will result every time power is gained.

Regardless of those who use martial arts to willfully harm others, martial arts exist to promote self defense not persistent violence. It's a paradox. Sometimes in order to maintain personal peace one is required to act violently. Martial arts is the discipline of that violence.

The US Army is the most fashion conscious organization on the planet. Throughout the ages the armies of the world have cared about style--think khakis, camouflage pants, the blazer, the beret, the peacoat, and the trench coat--but I think the US Army takes it to a new level.

The US Army doesn’t abide by “modern” fashion sense; it definitely adheres to its own code though. Your boots must have the laces tucked in, with the pants bloused. If your boots happen to be black leather, shine them every night for an hour. Berets will be cared for meticulously, shaved and shaped to perfection. Your hair will not touch your ears nor grow over two inches in length; a clean shaved face will lead to victory. Most importantly, everyone should where the same uniform, boots, ruck sack, and equipment, no matter personal preference.

Uniformity (in dress) will yield victory.

Failure to adhere to these standards will be noticed. I"m pretty sure a Sergeant Major's only job is enforcing these standards. Rolled up sleeves? He’ll catch that. Missing badges on an ACU? He’ll spot that. Non-standard boots? Oh yeah, you’ll catch hell for that. I've joked before that to graduate the Sergeant Major's Academy, the students have to do an inspection of a lieutenant with nine uniform mistakes and spot them all in thirty seconds or less. It's like a JMPI but for uniforms.

The reason for this is that a combat unit needs discipline. Forcing soldiers to meticulously care for their uniforms--shining boots, shaving berets--teaches them the discipline to do what they are told. I agree with enforcing discipline: war is chaos, discipline is the only way to overcome that chaos.

Unfortunately, uniformity (in dress) is not discipline.

The Armies that deployed to both Afghanistan in 2002 and that deployed to Iraq in 2003 were the most uniformed service we have ever had. Yet we still struggle in Afghanistan and it took until 2007 to learn the right way to win in Iraq.

Our enemies don’t have uniformity. But they have discipline. A discipline forged in the fire of constant threat of death.They need unrelenting discipline to stay alive.

I am not the first to gripe about uniforms in the US Army, nor will I be the last. But if we can learn a lesson from the last nine or so years of war, it is that uniformity in dress teaches uniformity in thought. The US Army took years to adapt to the situations on the ground in Iraq and Afghanistan. Our uniforms didn't cause this, but our uniformity in thought probably kept change from occurring much earlier.

As the year 2010 begins (let's be honest, the year doesn't really start until you go back to work), we wanted to give our readership a glimpse into the future, along with two big announcements.

First, starting this Thursday our friend Matty P will contribute a post every other week. He shares our interest in art and violence plus he brings a different set of experiences than our own. He has already provided some great guest posts for us--such as "15 Bullets", "Violence and Entertainment" and "My Father is a Warrior"--and we look forward to working with him.

But Matty P is not the only voice we want to hear at On Violence. Everyone has some connection to violence. We've all seen, witnessed or caused violence in some form, and we want to hear from you about what you've experienced. We welcome you to share your experiences with us, anonymously or in public.

In 2010, you can also expect to see On Violence out in the larger media world, following on Eric C's very successful post at WritetoDone.com and uniqueblog.net. We have several projects planned for the larger milblogging, blogging and old media worlds. Whatever we get published, we will let you know.

For the upcoming year, Michael C will continue to tell his experiences from Afghanistan, comment on the draw down in Iraq and build up in Afghanistan, and complain about the continuing lack of great counter-insurgency in the military. Eric C will finish his series on war memoirs with his biting sarcasm intact. Finally, we will start a series of debates between Michael C, Eric C and Matty P with the first on the lessons of Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan.

Most importantly, the team at On Violence will be launching a new web project this year. We are still finalizing details and working on the specifics, but trust us, we will let you know as soon as it goes up.

Finally, thanks of course go out to all our loyal readers. The biggest surprise for us since starting the blog has been the amazing contacts we have made with people we would not have met otherwise. Follow us on facebook, twitter or via RSS feed. Tell your friends, family or complete strangers.

Fiction is like a lamp. It shines a light illuminating truths about the world. Most commonly, fiction describes the nature of the human condition. Moby Dick deals with obsession, The Corrections deals with family dysfunction, and Catch-22 deals with paranoia.

More uncommonly, fiction illuminates the nature of abstract ideas and principles. Like how Einstein's Dreams describes time, Gravity's Rainbow describes entropy, and Syriana describes international relations. (It should be noted these stories still deal with human emotions as well as abstract concepts. This isn't an accident.)

I tried to do something similar about a year ago, when I wrote a story about the internet and how it spreads information. Titled “Revolution at my Fingertips” or “Echo Chamber,” (I hadn't decided which) I probably won't ever try to publish it, for reasons I will soon explain.

The story has two plots. The first is of Mehta, an unemployed liberal looking for work in the city, but really spending all day on the internet supporting a revolution against an oppressive government.

Now the second plot is where things get interesting. In it, a young woman dies at a protest. The story describes how her image, name and face spread virally around the internet and how she becomes the symbol of the revolutionary movement.

“The young girls photograph became a rallying call.” And later. “She had become symbol of everything you were fighting for. And people needed her, needed her to exist and be concrete. Details emerged, then unemerged [sic], then were shaded. She went to college, she didn’t go to college...she wrote this, this matters, she matters, we matter." (This was a rough draft.)

Of course, all of this actually happened. Neda Agha-Soltan died last June after being shot at a protest in Tehran, and she then became a symbol both in her home country and around the world of the "Green Revolution" in Iran. I didn’t predict the death of Neda Agha-Soltan in the Iranian election protests, but I predicted how the deaths of people like Neda would matter in the Internet age.

Unfortunately I can't write the story now because it would seem like a parody, or too clearly an allegory.

The question is, does this make her death more or less meaningless? Does this match up with my larger theory of how trite all of this Iran media coverage became?

I stand by the original story; people desire images to rally behind. Neda became that symbol for her revolution. Symbols like these can be used for ill (the Swastika, the burning cross) or it can be used for good (the V-sign, the red cross). But they are still only symbols.

On Violence is a blog on counter-insurgency warfare, military and foreign affairs, art, and violence, written by two brothers--one a veteran and the other a pacifist.

The work of On Violence has appeared in The Washington Post, Stars and Stripes, The Small Wars Journal, The New York Times’ "At War" blog, The Los Angeles Times’ Blowback feature, FP.com and Thomas Ricks’ “The Best Defense” blog, Infantry Magazine, and Doonesbury’s “The Sandbox”.